Before I apologize for not writing in six days, I want to point out that I have a terrible, unrelenting cold. I’m blaming the mucous, everybody!
But really, I truly am sorry. I’ve missed you guys.
Enough about you! This cold is really something! I caught it while spending time last week in the mountains of North Carolina. Beautiful as they were, it was chilly—the kind of weather I normally love! And I did love it! Just maybe a little too much.
After a record-setting heat wave in D.C. this summer, I was more than ready for some pre-Autumn weather. As the temperature dropped into the 40s and I sat outside in a long-sleeved t-shirt with a cup of tea… the chill set in. And once that chill sets in, it’s hard to get rid of—like my chronic fascination with everything John Stamos. I mean, honestly, has that man discovered the fountain of youth or what?!
I’ve somehow managed to climb out from underneath a mound of used Kleenex, started my fourth Lifetime movie in a row, and moved a plethora of cough medicine bottles to uncover my trusty laptop. But in this hazy, NyQuil-induced state of fuzziness, I dare not write about anything too important or life-altering. But I will write about something important to me at this very moment.
I could really use a hot bowl of chicken noodle soup right about now… delivered by a caring, sacrificial, sexy boyfriend, of course!
When you’re sick, there are lots of practical things that help, like rest, fluids and medicine. But I believe there’s something that helps even more than all those things—the human touch.
I remember being sick as a child. I’m talking about when I was actually sick, not just rubbing the thermometer on my jeans before school in a desperate attempt to skip out on a history exam. (My clever brother Sam taught me that trick!)
When I was really sick my mom would always rest her hand on my forehead to check my temperature. She would make me soup and tuck me into bed in a way that only she can do—flipping the blanket up in the air so it falls perfectly on top of me, and then stuffing the sides under my body.
There’s something about that human touch that sticks with you. And then, when you’re a 31-year-old, independent woman running a million miles an hour in the nation’s capital and you suddenly find yourself with the sniffles, you miss it.
Although a man could never replace that special magic a mom has, I do believe that right about now it would be very nice to have a boyfriend. Someone who will take care of me, run out to get more orange juice, and suffer through yet another made-for-TV movie about a personal assistant who kills her boss’s wife in order to show him how much she really loves him. (I’m finding this storyline oddly romantic… which shows just how under the weather I am!)
Alas, here I am, all alone in my fourth-floor walk-up… my hair thrown up in a very interesting, cockeyed concoction atop my feverish head. I’m coughing up colors I’ve never seen before and I have no one to show them to! But, I remind myself that what doesn’t kill you, as Kanye says, only makes you stronger.
If you do have someone special in your life, reach out and touch them today. You are very blessed indeed.
Here’s to a phlegm-free tomorrow!